The Bullet of the matter
by Wolfyman123
Summary: 68, Lucifer thinks, and he feels a small part of himself come back as he chuckles to himself, seems the Detective owes me one. The sudden thought of her sobers him, and the part that he felt come back slides away again.


He always knew it would come to this. Nothing he ever did would change the outcome. No matter how much he raged, no matter how many bottles he smashed, it would have always ended the same. Glass was everywhere, and there was nothing left of his famous wall of liquor. Bullets rattled along the ground, the path leading out the balcony towards where he stood. His wings were in shambles behind him, the pain of each small bullet easing as they were extruded from his body.

Her horrified gaze was burned into his very being, and he remembered the violent way she flinched when he took a small measure step towards her. As he looked around his penthouse, dark, with the shadows pulling at him, he knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

All because she now knew the truth. The horrifying, _burning_, truth. The Detective had seen him, all of him, and she had run.

For who could ever love a – _The _– Monster?

Everything after was mostly a blur. Lucifer remembered driving towards Lux, but when he had ended up in Corvette was lost to him. He could feel the sting radiating from his wings, but even that was lost amongst the pounding in his head. He knew the penthouse was empty the second the elevators dinged, bereft the presence of Daniel and Miss Lopez. Stepping out into his penthouse, Lucifer grabbed the first bottle within reach.

Time past, but how much he wasn't sure. Every bottle he drank ended up the same. He would drain the bottle of liquor in minutes, then violently smash it across the penthouse. But no matter how much he drank, Lucifer never felt any different. It took him ages to get drunk, and even then, it would vanish like everything else in his long life. He knew now, what he truly was, what he truly deserved.

Another death added to his guilt, another life taken. Hell wouldn't have a problem holding him this time, and he doubted he would be strong enough to leave if he was trapped again. Even though he knew he would do it again, in a heartbeat, Lucifer couldn't abolish the feeling inside himself. He had broken the number one rule, one he followed long after he was cast out, and Lucifer didn't know if he would be strong enough to take the punish He would ultimately bring. He was the monster that the world had said he always was, and now he had proof.

Lucifer knew that the return of his face wasn't caused by his Father, but a reflection of how he truly felt inside. And wasn't that just ironic? The very face he desired back, the one that he was sure for so long was taken from him, and now he didn't want it. All because Chloe had seen it. Seen the truth.

After the last bottle had been emptied Lucifer had dragged himself to the balcony. He stood there, wings low, the primaries dragging on the floor, and leaned against the ledge. He wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since he arrived back in his penthouse, but as the sun set across the city he called home, Lucifer knew that by then backup had surely arrived at the loft.

But he couldn't return. He knew that deep within his heart, or what ever the Devil had for one. He wouldn't leave Earth, of that he was certain, but he didn't know what he would do now.

His phone pinged in his jacket, and Lucifer slowly pulled out the device. He turned on the screen, gazing at the message left for him.

Doctor Linda [7:04pm]: _Where are you? Maze is here and I haven't heard back from anyone else._

Lucifer tossed the device away, intent to being left alone with his thoughts.

Weeks past in a haze of booze, drugs and music, his long since emptied bar restocked. It seemed he had to call down at least once a day to have more and more liquor dragged up to his lonely penthouse. He would barely leave his piano except to grab another bottle, and after the first week had passed his fingers actually started to ache. The first two days his phone was constantly alerting him, calling to him from its hidden place on the balcony. But after a while of inattentiveness it finally died, and Lucifer barely gave it another thought.

He was surprised then when his elevator dinged, interrupting him as sat before his piano. He sat there stiff as board, but he never turned around. He wasn't exactly sure why, but he didn't try to name the feeling.

"Lucifer?"

_Ah, _Lucifer thought, _the Doctor._

Turning around and plastering on a smile, Lucifer gazed upon the good doctor. "What can I do you for, Doctor?" Lucifer asked.

Doctor Linda Martin strode into his penthouse, and Lucifer watched as she swept her gaze across his destitute home. Her eyes narrowed as they took him in, and Lucifer could see the therapist side of her catalogue his latest binge.

"Lucifer," She said, "No one has heard from you in _weeks._ What happened?"

Rising from his spot in front of his piano, Lucifer went to his bar and grabbed himself another bottle. Looking at the doctor questioningly, Lucifer gestured to her with the liquor. When she shook her head he turned towards the living space, settling himself down into the soft couch. He watched as the doctor followed behind him, settling opposite him, reminding himself sharply of what their sessions looked like.

Opening the bottle in his hand, Lucifer took a deep pull from the bourbon before setting it down gently on his couch table. The sharp ring of glass contacting glass rang out across the quite space, reverberating through his body.

Lucifer watch as Linda took in his sordid state. His hair was unkempt he knew, just as he hadn't shaved in only his Father knew how long. The suit he wore was fresh, but even that had wrinkles spread through out it, no doubt arisen from his lack of care. When she was done Linda looked directly into his eyes, and Lucifer quickly cast his gaze away.

Neither said anything for a long minute, before Linda cleared her throat and began. "Have you been up here the whole time?"

Flicking his eyes between the doctor and the bottle on the table, Lucifer slowly nodded.

"Please Lucifer," she asked, "tell me what happened."

Lucifer finally locked his eyes onto hers, and said, "What do you know of what happened?"

Linda looked at him for a moment, before saying "I know that something happened at the loft, and that Pierce is dead. But nobody is telling me anything. Not even Maze knows, but she's been holed up at my place."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow, and the Doctor merely gazed back at him, face impassive. "Maze? What is _she_ doing there?"

Linda adjusted her self on the couch, before beginning the tale that Maze had told her. When she was done Lucifer cast his gaze down, thinking over what he learned.

"And how is our dear Demon doing these days?" Lucifer asked.

"She was hurt, but I managed to get her bandaged up," Linda replied.

Lucifer remained silent, grabbing at the bottle and taking another sip.

"Again, Lucifer, what happened? I only know from the news that the Lieutenant is dead. Chloe isn't answering her phone, and I don't have Dan's number."

Sighing, Lucifer set the bottle back down. "The Detective knows," Lucifer said quietly.

Lucifer saw something pass threw the doctors eyes, but he wasn't sure exactly what.

"You showed her your wings?" She asked.

Shaking his head, Lucifer's hand balled into a fist. He choked down a few more sips of the bourbon, the liquor doing nothing for him.

"No," he said, "she saw my face."

Linda leaned forward, her gaze never leaving his face. "Your face? How? I thought you said you lost it."

Lucifer snapped up, grabbing the bottle and moving around the couch. He wasn't sure where he was heading, so he ended up stopping short of leaving the living area. "It seems, doctor, that what my dear old brother speculated was the truth. For Angels, metaphors _are_ real."

Linda turned to her body to follow him her eyes tracking his movement. "Ah," she said, "I see."

"So," she continued, "Chloe saw your devil face?"

"Yes," Lucifer replied, "After I killed Cain."

Linda swallowed, her gazing moving sharply outside into the bright Los Angeles sky, before settling back onto him.

"What about- "

"Nothing," Lucifer grounded out, "Haven't heard a peep from Dear Old Dad about anything. No lightning, no thunder, no swarms of locust! Its as if he doesn't care that one of his sons broke his number one rule!"

Linda sighed, and Lucifer couldn't tell if it was out of relief or something else.

"Well," she said, "Getting back to Chloe."

Lucifer felt his whole-body sink at the notion, before resigning himself back to his spot on the couch.

"She," he began, "She... saw me, Doctor. How do you think she reacted?"

Linda shook her head, motioning for him to continue.

"She… She ran, Doctor," Lucifer said, his shaking hands reaching back out for the bottle before settling on his leg. "She screamed at me to get away, Doctor."

"Oh," Linda replied, "Well Lucifer, you know how it can be for some people. I certainly didn't react positively for instance. But even I came around to the idea. And I'm sure she didn't scream at you."

Lucifer's whole body shook at the memory, of the Detective's wide frightful eyes locked on to him. The words that came out of her mouth on repeat inside his head. "You don't understand, Doctor," Lucifer said, his voice thick. "I remember exactly what she said."

It was silent for a moment as Linda gazed at him. After a while she said, "Do you want me to talk to her? It might be easier coming from someone who has already dealt with," she gestured all around him, "all of this."

Lucifer shook his head, before balancing it on his two hands, gaze cast on the ground. "No, I," Lucifer said, "I think it's for the best."

Lucifer was unable to see the doctor, but he heard her shifting around in her spot on the couch. "Why do you think that, Lucifer? Do you think Chloe is better off not seeing you ever again? Or that you would be better off not seeing her?"

Lucifer flinched as Chloe's name rang through the air, its sound burning into him. "She would be better off without me, Doctor. Surely you must see that. I am the Monster everyone has said I was."

Linda began to speak, but Lucifer had enough of the conversation. Grabbing the bottle, Lucifer beelined for the balcony again, his feet crunching on the shattered glass and bullets still left over.

Lucifer heard Linda moving to follow him, and he heard her soft gasp and she finally saw the blood and bullets.

"Lucifer..."

Scoffing at her tone, he said, "I'm fine, Doctor. Good as new."

Gripping the ledge, Lucifer saw the Linda settle beside him on the balcony. "Where... where did you get shot?"

"My wings, Doctor. But no need to worry. Soon as the Detective left, I could feel them healing. Though the blood stained on certainly makes them itchy."

Linda's hand moved towards his back, and after a quick glance at his face, settled back on the ledge. "Do you need..." she trailed off.

Lucifer shook his head, saying, "I'll be fine, Doctor."

Linda nodded, her face tight, before gazing back out with him at the city below. Lucifer could sense her working up to saying something else, but he felt that nothing she could do would repair the situation he was in.

Linda spoke quietly, her words nearly lost to the loud city below, "I can stay, if you want."

Lucifer froze, before softly nodding. It would be nice to not be alone, for once. Way back when, Linda had told him that there was difference between being alone and feeling lonely, and Lucifer was glad that he wasn't alone right now. Even if it did nothing to ease the void left behind.

Linda leaves the following day, citing clients that she has to get back to. She tries to get him to promise to leave his penthouse, but Lucifer guarantees her nothing. She does, however, get him to promise to call her if he needs her, and tells him that she will be back in a few days for another session if he feels up to it.

Alone again in his penthouse has Lucifer thinking dark thoughts, swirling around in his mind and trying to drag him down. He nearly reaches for another bottle, but decides against it. He doesn't really know what makes him discard the liquor. As the quiet of the day begins to settle around him, he suddenly feels restless, the ever-burning part of him desiring motion kicking back to life. He sweeps through his penthouse, cleaning every surface, picking up and throwing all the used bottles away into boxes to be taken down later. When he stumbles upon the bullets he stops, before slowly reaching down to pick one up.

He turns the bullet over in his hand, watching as the light of the day catches on the dried blood. He grabs one of the few tumblers that he didn't smash in his rage, collecting all the bullets laid out on the ground. Each one makes a distinct _clink_ as it joins its brothers inside the glass, and once he's done, Lucifer places the glass full of bullets on top of his piano. It isn't until later, after he sweeps up the broken glass, that he sits in front of the piano and counts the bullets.

_68, _Lucifer thinks, and he feels a small part of himself come back as he chuckles to himself, _seems the Detective owes me one. _

The sudden thought of her sobers him, and the part that he felt come back slides away again. He sits at the piano, his fingers unable to find any melody for once in his life. Only after the sun sinks in the sky does he finally move. He walks out towards the balcony, his gaze sweeping across the ground for anything else he might have missed. He alights upon his phone, its screen sporting a new crack across it. Fumbling with the phone in his hand, Lucifer tries to turn it on. When only the black screen greets him after his attempt does he stride inside his bedroom to plug it in.

His phone vibrates in his hand as it partially powers up, but Lucifer can't bear to see any of the message, so he leaves it on his nightstand.

More week's pass, with Linda coming in and out of his penthouse every so often. Lucifer is back to his usual prim self, hair perfectly tamed, suit chosen for the evening with nary a wrinkle to be found. Maze even drops by, and after a long chat does she help him take down the many boxes filled with empty bottles. Even the demon seems impressed with the amount of alcohol he inhaled, but words about the Detective never flow between them. Neither do they speak of the glass of bullets that has taken permanent place on his piano, but he does so often catch Linda gazing at it. Once, even, he is sure she takes a sly photo. He's not sure the purpose, but he leaves the doctor alone about it, shrugging it off as he does many human behaviors. The doctor also doesn't bring up the Detective, and he is grateful, but he can see the desire burning in her to speak. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't think he can face it.

His wings are fully restored, and even cleaned of the blood, but he denies any attempt for the doctor to inspect them. He can feel new feathers growing in place of the lost ones, the sensation burning throughout his body. The new feather twist and tangle with the old ones, but Lucifer doesn't bother preening them.

One unnoteworthy Friday does he finally make it down to his club. The bass thumps across the night club, drowning out the chatter and sin he hears around him. He has his usual smirk in place, even has a drink in his hand, but he never approaches anyone. Lucifer sits high above his club on the stairs, watching the mass of bodies surge below. A few people try to catch his eye, his favor, but he never lets them. He spots the doctor and Maze below, chatting along at the bar. Every so often he can see Linda's gaze turn towards him, but when only when he locks his gaze onto hers does she finally relent.

After a few hours does he retire to his penthouse, nobody by his side. Normally he supposes, he would have tried to drown himself in someone else, in the way he could draw and fulfill anyone's desire. Man or woman doesn't matter to him, but for once in his long life does the notion fill him with a sort of sadness. He buries these thoughts deep in his mind, hoping to never see the light of day again. He is a creature of desire, of free will, but for once he feels unable to sate another's desire. Not since he was cast down out of Heaven does he feel such pain in his chest.

As he readies himself for bed Lucifer's eyes move to his phone, untouched since the day he plugged it in. Every so often it chimes, alerting him that he has unseen messages, perhaps even a call, but he doesn't make a move to grab it.

_Better, _he thinks, _to never know._

Not once does the precinct or anyone there try to get in contact with him. At first, he doesn't care, for what could human laws do to him? But after a few weeks does he begin to question it. Luckily in the mean time there is no SWAT to bring him in, no officers knocking down his door to try to arrest the Devil himself. One night he even fantasizes about what would happen if they did, whether he would let them or not. He muses to himself that if he were to be "brought it" that it might allow him to see the Detective one more time, but he casts aside the notion.

_No, _he thinks to himself, _best to not burden her with him._

If they did come for him, he would just leave. For where he is unsure, but he knows that he never wants to return to Hell. For as much as he is a monster, or perhaps The Monster, he doesn't think he could face his own punishment.

It's early on weekend – for him at least - and he should be downstairs with his club, drowning himself in his element. Instead he sits alone at his piano, two tumblers alight atop, one filled with liquor and the other with the untouched bullets. The penthouse is quiet except for the smooth tones of Rachmaninoff flowing from his fingers. He's unsurprised when the elevator dings behind him, smooth doors opening to his home.

At first, he suspects its another group of people, intent to have him fulfill their desires, and he opens his mouth to tell them to leave. When he doesn't hear the incessant giggling that usually accompanies his so called _Lucifans_ does he close his mouth. After a moment of no sound filling his penthouse besides that of his piano does Lucifer sigh once again, this time suspecting either the Doctor or perhaps Maze.

His fingers still dancing across the keys of his beloved piano Lucifer finally says, "Bloody hell, Doctor, Maze, please. I've told you before that I'm fine."

He gets no response from his visitor, and he sighs as he hears the elevator doors once again close. He continues his play through of Études-Tableaux Op. 39 No. 6, otherwise known as "Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf", his fingers moving swiftly across the piano. As the piece ends does he feel the presence of someone still there, but he refuses to turn his head to acknowledge them.

Boots clack against his marble floor, leading straight towards him. His heart pounds in rhythm to their beat, but he slows it with a deep breathe. Unwilling to stand, unwilling to scare her further, Lucifer slowly turns his head as the slight figure makes itself known in his peripherals. She's clad in her normal attire, functional yet elegant, he thinks, at least on her. Her hair is down, softly cascading around the sweater she wears. Her jeans are dark, and tucked into her black boots. Everything in him screams to hold her, to bring her into his embrace and never let her go.

He goes to move but when his eyes take her in does he finally notice it. What he sees has him freezing in his spot, unable to move, lest he drive her away.

_She's shaking._

He's not sure why she's here, let along what to do, but he refuses to make any sudden movement. Lucifer watches as the Detective slowly moves to the side of the piano, so that the instrument is between them. She turns to stare at him, her eyes raking across him, and he sees her hands writhing in front of her, twisting and turning in the nervous way she does.

Neither of them say anything for what feels like an eternity, and Lucifer can feel his now mortal body start to protest at his frozen position. He doesn't dare to move though, and his eyes drink her in. When she clears her throat, as if to speak, his eyes dart right to the movement. The words she was to speak stop, dying at his intense gaze.

Finally, Lucifer sees the age-old Detective arise in her, masking her features, hardening her heart, and he feels bereft. She clears her throat again, and he notices her stance widen a fraction. When his gaze moves towards her hip does he finally feels like he understands.

She has her badge adorn to her normal spot, and her firearm clipped to her side. He feels the dread fill him up, sobering his thoughts. His gaze falls, and he feels his body slump in its position. Lucifer has no idea what to do. He won't allow himself to be taken in, not for Pierce- Cain- but he also will not harm her, could not harm her. Perhaps, he thinks, he can just let her take him and leave whenever they lock him up.

The Detective doesn't move however, and Lucifer feels his mounting confusion grow. Speaking softly, Lucifer speaks, "Well Detective, here to take me in?"

Lucifer watches as her hands move to her belt, lifting the handcuffs from behind her waist. As they rise does he feel his spirit fall further.

It surprises him, when instead of trying to cuff him, does she instead place the cuffs on his pristine piano lid. Quickly following are her badge and gun.

For the first time does she speak, and Lucifer strains his ears to remember forever the sound of her voice. "I don't think these would work on you."

Her gaze alights upon his face, and he sees the beginning of smile, before its dashed away. Lucifer knows fear, he can sense it, smell it in the air. Even now he can smell it wafting from her pores, see it deep in side her eyes. She falls quiet again, and Lucifer can see her struggling with the fear again.

Again he speaks slowly, softly, afraid to spook her even more. "You know, darling," he doesn't miss her flinch, "you don't have to be here."

When she says nothing does he continue, "If you want me to, I can leave. You'd never have to see or think of me again, never have to feel as you do now."

He can see her thinking, her mind whirling behind those beautiful blue eyes. Eyes that he could sink into, eyes that he could forever get lost in. The Detective shakes her head, and he swears he could hear a slight tinkling laugh fall from her lips. Lips that his eyes lock on to, remembering the way they-

"No, L-Lucifer," she says, and he can see the struggle it is to speak his name, "I-I-I came here to say."

Her voice drops off, and she tilts her head forward, hiding her eyes from his gaze. He waits, waits what feels like another millennia, but for her he would wait forever. For her he would Fall again, cast out, if only she would be safe, be happy.

She tilts her head up, her cerulean eyes locking with his. "I wanted to say… Hi."

Lucifer blinks. "Beg your pardon?"

She bites her lip, and Lucifer can feel the lust swirling in his gut before he clamps down on it.

The Detective sighs. "I know that I've, well I didn't really… That I didn't really react well."

Blink again, Lucifer considers the woman before him. "Detective," he says, "You reacted as anyone should have."

He watches as a frown appears on her face, and Lucifer aches to reach out to smooth it.

She steps closer to the piano, resting her fingers on the glossy lid, leaving behind finger prints on the dark material. Lucifer briefly considers for a second to never wash away the prints, so that he has something to remind him of her once she leaves. His gaze lingers on her fingers, only snapping back upwards when she speaks again.

"No, Lucifer," she says, and Lucifer is amazed by her conviction to be able to say his name, "I shouldn't have said that. I-I was scared, yes, but…"

"Its alright, Detective," Lucifer intones, his voice softer than before, "its normal to be scared, to be frightened. I am the Devil, after all."

He cringes as he says it, intent to take his words back, but he's surprised when she doesn't flinch.

"No, Lucifer," she repeats, "Your not-" she holds up a hand to forestall his protest, "not the Devil… Not the one they tell everyone about. Not the one they say is evil. I… I know that, now."

Her gaze falls down to her hands, and he catches sight of a lone tear making its way across her cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I've said. For how I reacted. For how everyone always treats you."

She sniffles, and Lucifer slowly reaches his hand up, pausing above her own. Quickly, faster than he expects, she grasps his hand between hers, and he feels her grip tighten, squeezing his hand.

"God," she begins, and he watches in somewhat amusement as her eyes widen at her own statement, "I can't even begin to imagine what its like. To be vilified like that, to have people say things in your name to…to.."

Her words drop off again, and Lucifer squeezing her hand with his trapped between her.

"Its alright, Detective," he says, "I'm used to it."

Her eyes widen again, but before she can say anything he continues, "And, frankly, they aren't wrong about me being a monster."

"NO!" She exclaims, surprising him. "No, you aren't. For God-goodness sake, Lucifer. You aren't… a monster."

He goes to protest, trying to draw his hand away, but he's unable to. The Detective moves around the piano, hands still clasping his own, alighting next to him. Even with him sitting down they are almost eye level, but he doesn't want to rise. Still doesn't want to scare her.

"I was afraid," the Detective says, pulling his hand closer to her, "but… in my defense, you are the Devil."

Lucifer nearly laughs at that, so reminiscent of what the Doctor said to him so long ago.

"But I talked to Linda," she says, and he understands, "Well, more like she talked to me."

One of her hands starts to make small motions across his own, and Lucifer can't begin to describe the feeling welling inside him.

"I was afraid," she repeats, the words driving into his heart, "but Linda kept talking to me. Telling me about you, how you really are. That you are still the same man, still the same person I know. For weeks I didn't want to listen, until she finally had me talk about you. She… She made me talk about all the small things you did, all the little details about who your are. How you would bring me coffee every morning, how you would make me laugh, how you always believed in me and what I thought."

Lucifer's eyes are wide, gazing at the Detective, amazed by her words, yet unwilling to accept them. He goes to speak again, and is only silenced by one her fingers upon his lips.

"No, I need to finish," she says. He would deny her nothing, give her anything, so he is silent. "Once I started, I couldn't stop. I just kept telling her about all these things, and it made me realize that I do know you. That I've always known you. That you have always said the truth. Even if you did hide things from me. Which I get."

When she finishes, Lucifer moves slowly to the edge of the piano bench, and each movement he makes he watches her intently, trying to see if she moves away. When she doesn't he continues, up until he's at the edge of the seat, nearly pressing into her side.

"There is so much, Detective," Lucifer says, "So much that you don't know. So much that you need to know before you say that you know me."

She's silent, for a moment, before saying, "So tell me."

He nods.

Lucifer talks for hours, and after a while he watches as she moves around him to settle beside him on the bench. The fear that was so pertinent in the air is going away, slowly, the more he speaks. He tells her how he left Hell, how he came upon LA. He speaks of the case, and they share a laugh on how they nearly met so long ago. He tells her about meeting her, how she's immune to him. When he gets to the part about her shooting him does he freeze up, not knowing how to tell her.

She seems to sense his hesitance, but he can see the questions in her mind.

"You see, Detective, when you shot me that night, I was as surprised as you were. Never before has a bullet wounded me before. Certainly I have bled, but never by human design."

"How," she asks, "I mean, your-r the Devil right? I thought that you were immortal or whatever."

He moves his gaze away, before slowly bringing it back in towards her. "I was -am- a Angel, Detective. The Devil is merely a title, or more of a… well." He trails off.

She seems to understand, but again asks, "So how..?"

He nods his head to the unasked question, "It's you, Detective."

He can see the surprise in her eyes, the lack of understanding clouding her thoughts. "What? What do you mean its me? How? I mean, how can I.."

Lucifer places his hand on her knee, stalling the words. "There's still much I have to tell you, but its not exactly you. Or at least Amenadiel and I think so. It's more of how I feel about you, Detective, then it is yourself."

Something seems to click for her, and Lucifer is once again taken aback of how her mind works. Always analyzing, always fitting clues together. "So when you said I make you vulnerable, so long ago, you meant that you make yourself vulnerable around me."

Lucifer nods, "Yes, Detective, you see, for Angels it seems that metaphors are our truth."

Chloe seems satisfied by the answer, but how she feels about it she doesn't say. Her eyes rake over his face and he can see that she's thinking of the Devil face he hides. Lucifer quickly continues his story, lest she try to ask about it.

When he tells her how he actually died that night in the hangar she gasps, and grabs his hand again between her own. He tells her of Hell, of the mission He gave him, but she doesn't say anything about the fact that he has a mother. He quickly continues on, telling her about the misadventures his mother put him through. He glosses over Uriel, unable to bring it up, only telling her about her accident and how he stopped an Angel from killing her.

Her gaze never leaves his face, and he can tell she has questions, but she doesn't ask them. Perhaps willing to let him tell them in time. Her hand still lingers in his, and Lucifer doesn't want to let go. Lucifer continues his tale, explain the celestial side to most of the cases they were in, and he sees again that pieces are falling into place in her mind. Unanswered questions that she's had since she met him are finally meshing up, and Lucifer can't help but feel grateful that she's still sitting beside him.

When he finally gets to the part about her origins does he falter again, the silence ringing out around them. Chloe squeezes his hand, and he feels some measure of comfort from it.

"You see, Detective," he falters again, "A long time ago, my Father asked Amenadiel to do something, something that he has never asked before, and something he has never asked since. Amenadiel was to meet with a woman, and bestow His blessing upon her, so that she could give birth."

Lucifer lets his words sink in, eyes moving swiftly across her face. Chloe for her part furrows her brow, and Lucifer can see the moment she realizes what the words he spoke mean.

Her eyebrows rise, and he can see confusion in her eyes. "You.. you mean me?" she asks.

Lucifer turns his head, and slowly nods.

They are silent for a while, until Chloe asks, "What does it mean?"

Lucifer laughs, a small heartbreaking laugh, before answering, "It means you are a Miracle, Chloe."

Chloe for her part lets out a little laugh, only for her smile to drop off her face when she sees that he not laughing or smiling. At least, not a true laugh or smile. She motions for him to continue, asking again "Okay, so what does that really mean?"

Lucifer sighs, bring his gaze back towards her. "All I know for sure is that He – God- meant for you to be here at this exact time. Why, I don't bloody know. Perhaps he meant for our paths to cross. Its not much of a stretch to think that my Father could know exactly when I would leave Hell, and where exactly I would end up."

Chloe nods turning her head away, and Lucifer can't make out what she thinks of the new information. "So, what do you think?"

Lucifer startles, and almost refuses to answer. As he gazes into her eyes however, he finds that he can't hold anything back. "For a while I thought that you were here to manipulate me, even if you didn't know you were. It's why I ran away, at least, one of the reasons."

She's silent on the matter, not saying a word. When the silence stretches on, Lucifer picks up the story.

"After I found out about, well, you, I went to your house to find you with your nose bleed."

Chloe nods, still deep in thought. So, Lucifer says, "After learning that you were poisoned, we -Maze, Linda, Amenadiel, my Mother and I- came up with a plan."

Chloe turns her head back towards him, and Lucifer can tell he has her full attention. "Our plan was simple, really. The Professor was in Hell, a place I know quite well, so all I had to do was pop down and get the formula from him."

He stops again, unsure of how to continue.

Chloe asks, "So how did you go down? I mean you said before that you could travel between here and Hell but you couldn't without your wings, which you… cut off, and the other way you had to…"

Her eyes go wide at him, and Lucifer thinks she's begging him not to confirm her line of thought. Lucifer though, sighs, before nodding. "Yes, Detective, I had to die."

A sob escapes her, clearly without her intent, for she suddenly throws her arms around him. Lucifer's free hand remains poised above her, the other still in her grasp, and he's unsure for a moment of what to do. It isn't until till she pulls him closer, pressing her face into the side of his, that he finally lowers it down around her.

For a while they remain, sitting side by side on the piano bench, until finally Chloe pulls away slowly. Her face is stricken with tears, and Lucifer deftly wipes them away with his hand. Once it seems she gained some of her composure back does Lucifer continue on his story. When he tells her how he had gotten trapped, although he glossed over what exactly was waiting there, she snakes her arm around him again and hugs him close.

The story continues, and as he tells her about Candy, and what exactly she was doing for him, does Chloe retreat slightly, but his hand still remains clasped in hers. He tell hers all about the plan, and how he tried to stop what his mother wanted, and how they searched for the pieces. She seems taken a back when he explains about God Johnson, but seems to understand the situation a bit better. Lucifer tells her the truth about the pier, about how he cut open the very fabric of the world, and gave his mother a new home.

"Then you see, Detective, as I finished the call to you outside the hospital I was kidnapped. It wasn't until later that I learned who it truly was. But I awoke in the desert with these bloody things on my back, and my Devil face taken from me."

Chloe seems to suddenly come to a understanding, and her eyes seem to brighten. "Wait, wait. You mean to tell me you actually have wings right now. Honest to God.. Wings!"

Lucifer sighs, and says, "Yes, they are Father honest wings."

Chloe seems to dance around in her spot, pulling at his side, raking her hand down his back. The movement of her hand pulls at the wings, and Lucifer barely resists the urge to unfurl them. "Ca-Can I see them?"

Lucifer gazes at her, of how at this moment she seems to look so much like her spawn, and chuckles. "Later, darling, I promise."

Chloe nods, sinking back into her seat, but her gaze seems to linger on his back. Lucifer continues his story, leading up to who exactly, and what exactly Pierce was. She seems to draw back into herself, and Lucifer says. "Detective, darling, please believe me that I had no idea what he was planning. I, well, I apologize for all the hurt, and all that I put you through."

Silence reigns once again, and Chloe draws her hand away from his own. Lucifer feels bereft of the comfort, but knows that this was bound to happen. "I-I don't want to talk about him right now, please."

Lucifer nods, but doesn't say anything else. Chloe's gaze seems to sweep across the penthouse, and for once Lucifer is glad that he cleaned up.

Up until her gaze is drawn to the tumblers on the piano. And if Lucifer was to be honest, which he always was, he was surprised that it took so long for her to realize what one of them contained. He watched as her hand drew up towards the bullet filled tumbler, drawing it closer for her inspection. She took one of the bullets out of the glass, rolling it around in her hand and inspecting it much like he had done weeks ago.

He can tell the moment she recognizes that the bullet still has blood on it, and Lucifer remains silent. She holds up the bullet to him and asks, "Who's blood is this, Lucifer?"

His gaze moves from the bullet to her eyes, and he is once again compelled to answer her. "It's mine, Detective."

Her eyes widen, before her hand end up running along his body, searching for damage. "Where? Where are you hurt, show me."

Lucifer is silent for a moment, before he grabs her hands, still them. "They've long since healed, Detective."

He can tell the moment she seems to understand, her gaze once again drawn to his back. "Show me."

Lucifer sighs, before standing. He moves from the piano into the open area before his bar, and stops Chloe as she gets close to him. "Stay back, darling."

Her gaze sweeps around the area, before her eyes widen. "Okay," she says silently.

Lucifer eyes her critically, before finally nodding. Rolling his shoulders, he allows his wings to unfurl into this reality. Chloe's eyes go wide, and for a moment Lucifer hopes that he hasn't broken her, or scared her off again. As she takes in his wings he can see her eyes flicking around, clearing searching for bullet wounds. She takes a step forward, hands reaching out, before Lucifer grabs at her hand.

Chloe's eyes lock onto his, and for a moment Lucifer studies her. When she tries to pull away does he finally let go of her arm, before slowly bringing his left wing close to her. Her eyes search his own, seeking permission, and when he nods she slowly reaches out again.

The moment her hand touches his wing seems to shock them both. Lucifer sighs in content, pleasure arching up and down his spine. It's been so long since he let anyone touch them, at least while they were still attached, and he finds that he can barely recall what it used to be like. For clearly, it could never be like this, with Chloe's hand moving smoothly, gently, up and down the arch of his wing. She seems as taken in as he his, and he watches as her other hand slowly moves up to join.

Her one hand brushes upward against the grain of feathers, and Lucifer hisses at the sensation.

"Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you!" She exclaims, jumping back from him, her hands still stretched out towards his wings.

Lucifer shakes his head, and gently grabs her hand in his. "Don't go against, the grain, darling. It doesn't hurt, but it's not exactly pleasant."

After seeing her nod does he show her how to run her fingers across the feathers. She seems to instinctually get it after a moment, and when she starts to straighten his newly formed feathers, Lucifer almost collapses.

"Its alright, darling," Lucifer says, his panting breaths filling the air around them, "Just not used to someone grooming them."

She nods at that, and her hands start to dart around his wings, straightening each and every feather she finds. Lucifer nearly passes out at the pleasure sweeping through him, but his pride puts an abrupt halt to that. How could the Devil himself, fulfiller of every desire, pass out from pleasure, his area of expertise?

Chloe doesn't seem to notice his internal moment, nor his near brush with unconsciousness, for which Lucifer is glad. It doesn't take long for her to finish one wing, and Lucifer nearly jumps when she starts on the other. At least half an hour passes this way, Lucifer teetering on the edge of a pleasure induced coma. When she's finally done does she stand in front of him again, her gaze sweeping across her finished work. After a moment he's able to come to his senses -ha!- and he turns his head up towards her, wings splaying out wide. Chloe seems enraptured by the wings, but Lucifer is glad to see that isn't so much like it was with Carmen. What exactly she was thinking was again lost to him.

Chloe moved in close to him, grabbing his hand and pressing it to her chest. "You said it was a while since someone groomed them, how long was that exactly?"

Lucifer's gaze is stuck on his hand, the sensation of his touch against her chest nearly making him forget her question. Her chest was warming, and he could feel her steady heartbeat pulsing up his arm, as well as something solid beneath it. Chloe had to shake him a little to get him to answer.

"Not since I Fell, darling," Lucifer answered, still drinking in the feeling of being so close to her.

A frown marred her face, before Chloe pulled him into her and hugged him tight. They stood like that for a moment, before his arms, and his wings, encircled the both of them. One of her hands left his back, and started a soothing motion on the inside of his wing. Lucifer nearly purred in contentment. After a few minutes they separated, and Lucifer watched as slowly confusion worked its way across her face.

"You just said earlier that h-human made weapons don't hurt you, so how exactly did your wings get shot up then?" she asked, and Lucifer watched as her gaze moved back to the bullet filled tumbler.

"Ah," Lucifer said, before stumbling over his words. Once he was able to get a sordid answer out did he finally speak. "In the loft, after you got shot, I used my wings to… shelter you from the gunfire."

Chloe's eyes went wide at that, her hands moving up to cover her mouth. A sob nearly escaped her again, and Lucifer drew closer to her, grasping both of her arms with his. "You…you protected me?"

Lucifer's eyes softened, drawing her own back up to his. "I will always protect you, Chloe."

The use of her name seemed to startle her, and Lucifer watch in amazement as a brief blush rushed over her face. It was only a moment, though before she dragged him back over to the piano. She picked up the tumbler rattling the bullets around inside it. "How many?"

Lucifer reached out to take the tumbler from her grasp, but she moved it away from him. "68, darling," he said, before trying to inject some levity, "it seems that you owe me one."

He smirked at her, trying to get her to lighten up, but her gazed was fixed on his own. She seemed to be considering something, debating it over and over in her mind. Lucifer could tell the minute she decided her course, for her eyes became determined. Lucifer was surprised when she reached underneath her sweater and pulled something he thought she long since gotten rid of.

The bullet necklace.

Lucifer watched, entranced, as she removed the necklace, and then, slowly, lowered it into the tumbler with the rest of them. Lucifer swallowed, his gaze slowly moving back up towards her face.

Lucifer stood frozen as she moved closer, her free hand grasping at the collar of his jacket. She pulled him closer to her, her own mouth inches from his. His hands came up to align themselves on her waist, wanting to pull her closer, but unknowing if he should or not.

Her gaze burning into his own, she finally said, "not anymore," before sealing her lips to his.


End file.
